Rodo Rooder Dooty

I open my perfect door. Yeah!
I sing to the perfect odor wafting up to my nose. Mmm, I love new tank smell.
Down the hatch I drift on a perfect day, for it is time to play down the freeway.

I stand at attention like a soldier with my book bags.
I see a perfect door opening before me- opportunity has struck my opponents in the face.
After a moment, with the tank in front of me, I swing my right bag agitatedly- "Go away."

I drive in a straight line- my instructions are to drive as carefully and precisely as possible along the boulevard. I'm glad I'm in the front- I just have to maintain an even speed; I don't have to worry about perfect spacing.
The general said if we do a good job, we will get a rest day tomorrow. Any mistakes, and there'll be extra runs for a week. Or I might have to clean toilets with a rodo, and if it isn't perfect there will be major complaints from the lieutenants.
I am the best driver in the second best battalion in China. That is why I was chosen to lead the parade.

I see a man in a white full sleeve shirt with black pants. He has bags in his hands.
My guns are not loaded for the parade, so I have nothing to threaten with, but he looks harmless. I don't want to turn, so I stop. I realize he will not move- this has never happened before!
I have never been in a real war. I don't want to hurt people, especially my own countrymen.

The lamppost knows how to dance, but it cannot move to protest. If it could, it would be immovable for a time, had it fallen in their path. It knows, however, that they might run over a lamppost and show their power, but would not run over a student on TV and reveal their cruelty.

The tank is very tall, but it is easy to climb up- I step on a handrail and push up. The metal is hot from the sun. I go over to the turret and knock, but the armor is too thick. I don't think they can hear me. I try to open the hatch, but it is locked.

Inside, wrapped in gauze, my mind stopped speaking to my hands.
What would the general say?
I can't stop. I will turn and continue. Perhaps that will be better.
Oh, he's moving with me. Now what?

I open my perfect door. I let the perfect odor of sweat and frustration lift like a cloud rising from a pond in morning sun. The man jumps down. I know it's too late. I will have to use the rodo on the plumbing, and I know those "perfect" lieutants will complain.